Читать книгу Adventures of Big-Foot Wallace: The Texas Ranger and Hunter (Illustrated) - John Crittenden Duval - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE PALO PINTO AT LAST—THE CAMP IN THE VALLEY—WALLACE’S LAST LOOK AT THE CAMP—THE INDIANS—A TIGHT RACE—WALLACE KILLS HIS FIRST INDIAN.
October 23d.—We travelled, I suppose, fifteen or sixteen miles to-day, over a better and more open country, and about noon struck a branch of the Palo Pinto Creek, on which we intended to begin our work of locating and surveying land.
We passed, on the way, several large Indian camps, but they were all old. In crossing a little sluggish stream of water to-day, one of our pack animals “bogged” down, and it took us a half-hour’s hard work to get him out again on firm ground.
Where we struck the south prong of the Palo Pinto, we found a little valley, surrounded on all sides by high, rocky hills, in the southern extremity of which we determined to build a permanent camp, as a sort of base from which to carry on our work. Game was abundant in the vicinity, and the large pools along the creek were literally swarming with fish. We selected a position for our camp in a bend of the creek, the only entrance to which was by a narrow neck that could easily be guarded and defended against the approach of an enemy. Approach at all other points was almost impossible, on account of the high and perpendicular banks of the creek.
In the evening we hobbled our horses, and all hands went to work to build a camp that would afford us some protection in bad weather. By sundown we had it finished and covered in with a double layer of dry grass. We then covered the floor with a quantity of the same, on which we spread our blankets, and slept like “tops” till morning.
October 24th.—It was thought best that all hands should rest to-day, after our fatiguing journey; so we had nothing to do but to amuse ourselves as we chose. Some “lolled” about camp, passing the time in eating and sleeping. Some rigged up their “tackle” and went off fishing; while others gathered pecans, of which there was an abundance in the vicinity. For my part, I soon got tired of all these things, and determined that I would explore a little of the country around our camp. Taking my gun and hunting equipments, I strolled off in the direction of a pass that seemed to penetrate the hills toward the northern extremity of the valley. At the entrance of the pass, there was a solitary hill, in the shape of a sugar-loaf, which I climbed up, and from the top of which I had a full view of the little valley in which our camp lay, and of the camp itself, about a mile and a quarter off. I could see the smoke rising from it, and our animals grazing round. Little did I think this was the last sight I should ever have of it; but so it was, for I never saw it again. I descended the hill, and took my way up the pass, and, after following it perhaps half a mile, it widened out into a small valley, in which there was a grove of pecan-trees, full of the finest nuts I had yet seen.
I gathered two or three handfuls of pecans, and was sitting down at the foot of one of the trees cracking and eating them, when I happened to look down the pass the way I had come, and saw a party of twelve or fifteen Indians riding up it as fast as the broken nature of the ground would permit. I knew, if I remained where I was, that they would certainly discover me, and there was no chance for me to pass them unobserved. My only hope of escaping from them was in going ahead until I came to some cañon or ravine making into the pass, into which I might dodge and “lay low” until they had gone by.
But there was no time to lose, so I seized my gun and put off up the pass at a brisk trot. The pecan grove concealed me for a while from the Indians; but the moment they passed it they caught sight of me, and came yelling and whooping after me as fast as they could urge on their horses, for the pass was broken and seamed with deep gullies, and for half an hour they gained but little, if any, upon me.
All this time I had looked closely on both sides of the pass for some opening into the hills, but could see nothing of the sort: on both sides there appeared to be a solid wall of rock. At length the pass widened out into a small valley that was smooth and unbroken, and here the race between me and the Indians was a tight one, and a very exciting one to me, for, though I didn’t take time to look back, I could tell by the sound of their yells that they were gaining on me.
At length, I saw an opening in the pass on the left, and made for it as fast as I could, hoping it would lead me into some cañon or ravine that would be impassable for horses, and so it proved; for, after going a few hundred yards, I found great difficulty in getting along, even on foot. The Indians were still after me, I knew from their yells, and would probably dismount and continue the chase on foot when they could ride no farther. I had but little fear, however, of their overtaking me, for, as I have said before, in those days I could run like a scared wolf when I let out the kinks.
The cañon I had entered twisted and turned about among the hills in such a way that I could not see the Indians, but I was satisfied that they were still trailing me, even after I could no longer hear their yells. For this reason, I never slackened my speed until I had penetrated several miles among the hills, when I halted for a few moments to catch my breath at a point from which I could see several hundred yards down the cañon, in the direction I had come. I was just on the eve of getting up to make a start again when an Indian came in sight, travelling along the trail in a sort of “dog-trot,” and at a rate which I knew would bring him to where I was in a few moments. The perseverance of this rascal in following me up so long, “stirred my gall,” and I resolved to make him pay dearly for it, if I could. Near where I was resting myself, there was a large rock, just about high enough to conceal a man effectually when kneeling down, and behind that I took my position, with the muzzle of my gun resting on its top.
The Indian came trotting along, totally unsuspicious that the “chase” had turned to bay, until he was within twenty paces of me, when I gave a low whistle, and he instantly stopped, looking cautiously round at the same time. I had a dead-rest for my rifle, and I drew a bead about the centre of his breast and touched the trigger. At the crack of the gun, he sprang into the air and dropped dead in his tracks. That was the first Indian I ever killed.
I loaded up my rifle as quickly as possible, for fear others were close behind, and continued on up the ravine. I had gone, I suppose, about half a mile farther, when I came to another cañon, coming in at right angles to the one I was in, up which I took my way; for I thought, if the Indians still continued the pursuit to that point, they would naturally suppose I had gone on in the straight direction. I do not know if this “change of base” deceived them, or whether they followed me so far, but I neither saw nor heard anything of them afterward.
I kept on up this cañon for an hour after the sun went down, and until it grew so dark I found there was great danger of breaking my neck by tumbling into some of the numerous gulches that ran across it, when I turned aside into a little nook, where I laid down without making any fire, and where I intended to rest myself until the moon rose, and then proceed on my way. But I was so exhausted by the long race I had had that I went to sleep, and never woke up until the sun had fairly risen, and was shining above the tops of the hills.
